


The Exchange, Sam/Dean, PG

by meus_venator



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Gift Exchange, M/M, Sacrifice, death!fic (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meus_venator/pseuds/meus_venator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Christmas and Sam and Dean exchange presents, Winchester style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Exchange, Sam/Dean, PG

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:**[The Exchange](http://meus-venator.livejournal.com/54263.html)  
>  **Author:** [](http://meus-venator.livejournal.com/profile)[**meus_venator**](http://meus-venator.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Beta and lovely editor:** [](http://fufaraw.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fufaraw.livejournal.com/)**fufaraw**  
>  **Characters/Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
>  Rating: PG  
>  **Disclaimer:** I've no claim to Supernatural or its characters. Just playing in their sandbox for fun.  
>  **Warnings:** Death!fic (implied)  
>  **Word Count:** 1,400  
>  **A/N:** Leave it to me to twist a Christmas gift exchange into a death!fic, but I can’t get it out of my mind.
> 
>  **Summary:** It’s Christmas and Sam and Dean exchange presents, Winchester style.
> 
> And now with awesome **PODFIC** by [](http://alexisjane.livejournal.com/profile)[**alexisjane**](http://alexisjane.livejournal.com/). **[Listen to it here](http://www.fileswap.com/dl/H0hxG40xHv/%5Bspn%5D_The_Exchange.mp3.html)** and then **[go tell her how awesome it is](http://alexisjane.livejournal.com/22704.html?)**.

: : :

It was almost four in the morning. The air was so cold Dean could hear the trees groaning and cracking in the woods, as he stood in the shadow of the old country church. It was officially Christmas now, and Sam’s late. Sam’s never late.

He’d been waiting so long his ears were about ready to fall off. His feet had long ago gone numb. He tried to stamp them quietly, to keep the circulation up. Preoccupied with staying warm he almost missed it when it happened, almost didn’t notice the shifting of shadows in the dark. Some hard-wired brother sixth sense had him looking up just in time to catch Sam’s familiar silhouette appearing from the cover of the nearby trees. His footsteps were nearly soundless as he moved through the deep snow.

As he watched Sam approach, Dean’s fingers reached unconsciously toward him, aching to touch. Instinctively, he knew that would be most unwelcome. Knew that the delicate peace between them would shatter like the trees around them in the brutal frost.

The taste of failure was bitter on his tongue, and Dean’s heart clenched tight, acknowledging this was how it had to be now. And it was his fault, all his fault, that things were the way they were, that this wasn't the brother he grew up with, the brother he looked after and tried to protect all his life. That was the brother he'd failed, miserably. Dean’s chin dropped to his chest, his eyes squeezed tight in memory.

When Dean looked up again, Sam had already reached Mary’s grave, the only common ground they had left, now. The dusting of snow on their mother's tombstone sparkled prettily in the moonlight. Sam gazed around, sharp eyes taking in everything, just as Dean had taught him. Sam cocked his head, listening to the faint whistling, singsong of the aurora borealis that had kicked up overhead a couple of hours ago. Unusual for the phenomenon to reach as far south as Lawrence. As Sam tilted his head to the sky, the moonlight washed over him and Dean took that precious few moments to study his brother as he stood watching the dancing lights.

Sam had always been beautiful, especially to Dean, but now there was an eerie, ethereal beauty about him that was oddly vulnerable. It made Dean want to fold his brother into his arms and never let him go. He was thin, of course, too thin, but that’s the way things were, now. Many things were still the same though, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the breadth of his shoulders, the large hands that made the package he held look small, when it really wasn’t.

Dean shivered in memory. Sam had always made Dean feel small when he held him.

Sam's soft, floppy hair was still overlong, curling wildly around the collar of his jacket. Dean drank in the view hungrily, it would be the only chance he got to see his brother, until next year.

He watched as Sam reached down and picked up the present Dean had left him on their mother's grave. Watched as long, talented fingers ripped through the carefully wrapped newsprint to reveal the brightly coloured scarf inside.

Dean smiled fondly as Sam dipped his head and with almost child-like haste wrapped it around his long neck. The thrift store find in shades of green and blue was perfect to set off Sam's prismatic eyes. The Sam of old would have been grinning broadly, dimples on full display as he showed it off to Dean. This Sam only stood solemnly in the shifting light.

Dean closed his eyes and tried to gain control of his rapidly beating heart, and guilt washing through him. When he opened them again, Sam was gone.

Curiosity set him in motion towards his mother's grave.

He looked down at the headstone, and lying there was Sam’s present to him. In the moonlight the paper looked the colour of dried blood, with laughing Santas and reindeer printed on it. Dean tried to swallow down his fear.

The package was long and slender, distinctive in shape. Dean’s lips thinned, and his expression was grim as he gingerly unwrapped it. Inside the gaily wrapped paper was a machete. Dean closed his eyes in defeat. The message was clear – Sam had failed.

Dean wondered if Sam would meet up with Benny in purgatory, if they might become friends. More likely they'd tear each other apart like wild animals.

He wished things had been easier for Sam, wished Benny had been there to help him through this at the beginning, but Benny's not here, and Sam's alone in a way that Dean could barely imagine. Dean could only hope for the best as he picked up Sam’s parting gift. He gripped the handle and turned to make the short walk back to the Impala.

It had happened so suddenly, Dean had let down his guard and the vamp slip through their defences so easily. At first, he had hoped so hard that Sam, like Benny, and like Lenore and her family, would be able to overcome his instincts, that his brother would find a way to live peaceably in this world. But the call of the blood must have been too much for him. Or maybe it was simply having to go it alone – neither of them had ever been much good at life when they were separated. Now it's up to Dean to make things right, to take care of Sam now in death, as he should have done in life.

Snow began to fall as Dean came up on the Impala. Sam sat on one of the picnic tables nearby, watching the sunrise – it's almost Christmas morning. Merry Christmas, Sam. Merry Christmas, Dean. Merry Fucking Christmas.

Sam seemed both larger, and more insubstantial. But Dean didn't recall his brother ever being so wraithlike in the darkness.

Dean remembered the Devil's deal he struck with his brother after he'd been bitten. “Dean I can't be near you. The smell of you, God! There's no way I can control myself.” And Sam had cried, bloody tears streaking his pale face.

Dean knew Sam could probably scent him by now, with his keen vampire senses. Dean didn't care. His brother didn't move.

Dean stepped up, half-cheeking it on the picnic table, and then shifting himself over until he’s sitting close beside Sam.

The machete was still held loosely in his hand and a vial of dead man’s blood was in his pocket, but he knew he wouldn't need to use them. Not yet.

He glanced over at his brother, knocking his shoulder against Sam’s. Sam’s head turned and a warm, wistful smile passed over his lips.

“I’m so sorry Dean.” Sam’s voice was hoarse, choked.

“S’okay little brother, I gottcha. Let’s just watch one more sunrise together, and then I’ll see it through.”

This time he allowed himself to reach out and touch his fingers to Sam's face. On some level he knew his hand would only come away chilled and cold but it surprised and hurt him none-the-less. A desire to keep Sam warm was irrational, futile at best, but the long habit of caring for his brother had him wishing he’d brought a blanket. He settled for readjusting the mockingly cheerful scarf around Sam’s neck. Sam hummed softly and leaned his head against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean still wasn't sure what he was going to do, but one way or another, a decision was coming on fast as the first rays of the sun peeked out over the horizon. Nothing has ever been easy for the Winchesters. Why would it start now?

Dean leaned closer, licking his lips, dry from nervousness, distress, regret. On a whisper of a sigh, he let his lips brush up against Sam's colder ones. Sam moaned and opened his mouth, inviting his brother in to share his warmth with him one last time.

Unable to resist, Dean shoved in, their tongues dancing, tangling as of old. Dean can feel the tears beginning to leak onto his cheeks and freeze in the early morning chill. He can sense the sky lightening – so little time left. Just one last kiss, that’s all he asks for. Just one.

THE END

  
  
  


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